If you're poor and white and would rather not share a neighborhood with brown and/or Spanish-speaking folks, you probably live in Englewood, where you can be with a lot of people a lot like you. Houses tend to be small and disintegrating, there are no fewer than three trailer parks, and a good many yards feature dead cars and appliances. A lot of pickup trucks inhabit the driveways and line the streets. The NASCAR stickers (Dale Earnhardt Sr. has the most believers, but Jeff Gordon is also popular) predominate in the back windows; despite having never been part of the Confederate States of America (and not even a state in the Union until twelve years after the Recent Unpleasantness ended), the Stars and Bars grace a good many. "Heritage, not Hate."

As in many parts of Denver, the roads aren't in very good shape. Sure, people bitch about the potholes not getting fixed, but they bitch even louder about raising property and sales taxes. Where the money's supposed to come from is never quite clear. On the outside of the neighborhood, on the interface between suburb and exurb, it is the territory of car dealerships and large, tilt-wall discount stores. In Englewood proper, businesses are primarily package liquor stores, check-cashing and payday loan centers, pawn shops, and low-rent titty bars.

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